Roses of Red and White
by JesterClown
Summary: Due to certain events, Harry Potter, a chorus boy, was thrust into the spotlight, capturing the attention of his patron and childhood friend. But unbeknownst to him, he also have the devotion and fatal love from none other than the Phantom of the Opera.
1. Prologue

**Disclaimer**: I do not own Harry Potter and The Phantom of the Opera. I'm just writing this for my own amusement. _Harry Potter © J.K. Rowling _& _The Phantom of the Opera ©_ _Gaston Leroux_

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><p><strong>Prologue<strong>

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><p>-<em>London, England 1919<em>-

An elderly man, who looks to be in his late 60s, steps toward the leaf strewn entrance of the deteriorated opera house. This place holds all kinds of memory – some good, some bad, but precious memories nonetheless. After all, for many, many years this place had been his home. And to think that this once magnificent building is now where the public auction is being held….

The Hogwarts Opera has now long past its prime – a mere ghost of itself. And yet this was the place where it all began.

He can still remember so clearly the splendor of Hogwarts that it now vaguely resembles: the grand staircase, the velvet carpet, the sparkling chandelier, the excited faces of the ladies and gentlemen as the lights dimmed and the music began… and the stage. Such a bittersweet memory this place holds.

Although the opera house is dirtied by time and blackened of the decades gone fire, oh, how it calls to him! Never does it fail to always take him back to that very night.

Everything seemed to occur so suddenly, but it had been such a breathtaking moment – almost magical.

"Harry, are you alright?"

His just as elderly companion broke him out of his reverie by tapping him on the shoulder. He turns his head and looks at his friend expectantly with his startling green eyes.

"The auction is starting soon. We should head to our seats."

"Yes, of course, Neville."

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><p>The auctioneer, a plump middle-aged man (who to Harry's amusement, vaguely resembles his whale of an uncle who died years ago from a heart failure due to his obesity), bangs his gavel and begins to list off the items.<p>

"Lot 664: a wooden pistol and three human skulls from the 1831 production of 'Robert le Diable' by Meyerbeer."

Harry drowns out the sound of the words from the auctioneer, once again lost in his own memory until he heard the next auction that caught his attention.

"Lot 665, ladies and gentlemen: A papier-mâché music box, in the shape of a barrel-organ. Attached, is the figure of a monkey in Persian robes playing the cymbals. This item, discovered in the vaults of the theatre, is still in working order, ladies and gentlemen."

The porter held it up for all the people present to see. He then turned the knob on the side of the box with some effort. It had not been used for many years. A haunting melody slowly sounded from the small box and soon echoed across the walls of the opera house.

Harry's eyes widened slightly as he stared at the music box. A gleam of recognition shined in his eyes as he takes in the details.

"May I commence at fifteen pounds. Fifteen thank you."

After a few moment, Harry lifted his arm to signal his bid.

"Yes twenty from you, sir. Thank you very much."

An elderly woman decided at that moment to bid the music box for twenty-five. Well, Harry thought. That just won't do. He raised his arm again.

"Thirty! And thirty five?" the auctioneer looked at the women to see if she'll make another bid. She shook her head, not believing it was worth bidding more for. If she only knew.

"Selling for thirty pounds, then. Thirty once… thirty twice… sold for thirty pounds to Mister Potter. Thank you, sir."

Harry took the music box gingerly as the porter passed it to him. He twisted the knob and let the little box play its sad music; the music that held so much of his past, so much of his joys and sorrows.

"That's a pretty music box, Harry. A collector's item I think I've heard. I've never seen one like it," Neville spoke in a soft voice.

Harry smiled wryly. A collector's piece, indeed.

He examines it carefully. Every detail on it was exactly as he recalled. He'd often thought of it even after all these years. His finger ran over the velvet lining, the lead figurine.

"Will you still play when all the rest of us are dead?" he whispered softly, half to himself, half to the box. He clutched it to his stomach protectively.

"Lot 666, then."

His attention returns to the auctioneer as he resumes, when he reveals the next item that is a large object under a dust cloth.

"A chandelier in pieces. Some of you may recall the strange affair of the Phantom of the Opera: a mystery never fully explained. We are told ladies and gentlemen, that this is the very chandelier which figures in the famous disaster. Our workshops have repaired it and rewired parts of it for the new electric light so that we may get a hint of what it may look like when reassembled. Perhaps we may frighten away the ghost of so many years ago with a little illumination."

He turns his head and gestures to the workers. "Gentlemen?"

Harry gasps as the cloth lifted and the chandelier is switched on with an enormous flash, echoing the reminiscence of its former glory. As the men pulled on the attached ropes and the chandelier rose to the ceiling, his mind began to travel back, nearly 50 years. Back when Hogwarts was at its earlier grandeur, the chandelier immense and glittering, hovering high above the stalls. Back when his hair was once black as midnight and himself a youthful innocent of 18.

It had all started with the rehearsal for Hannibal. And he remembers how it had been particularly long and tedious that day.


	2. Chapter 1

**Reply to Reviews:**

**Peirl: **The roles were the most difficult to pick. One moment I decided an HP character to play a certain role, and then suddenly I've decided that it didn't fit the character at all. But on the other hand, it was probably best option. I've been scratching my head for days!

Instead of having the character playing the role of Christine die in the present, I thought having them alive instead would be more interesting.

**Il Mutto:** Uh... whoops? Sorry XD But I would like to read your version of the HP x PotO fanfic, too. Please post it when you do make one!

**Krm3DeeDee: **Why, thank you! ^^ As for reading the original play, that's absolutely up to you. Personally, I don't think you would need to read it in order to understand this story, but if you want to, then by all means go ahead. It's a wonderful play and I highly recommend anyone who's interested to read or watch it.

**Isys Skeeter: **That was the point, my dear; go for the unexpected :D

**xxxblast: **You'll just have to read the entire story to find that out. Fufufu~ And don't worry; I don't plan to ever abandon this. And thank you!

**Emerald Sage: **Thank you!

**peachespixer: **Thank you!

**Proud-to-be-Nerdy: **Aww, I'm sorry. And if it makes you feel better, so do I. :'D And I'm glad this story is worth your watch.

**Fire-Metal-Horse17: **Thank you! And yes, I'm pretty sure the prologue starts in 1919.

**Kaede203: **Thank you!

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><p><strong>AN: <strong>Thank you all for waiting ever so patiently for this update. I'm so sorry for taking so long. My laptop died on me and all of my drafts for this fanfic disappeared. I didn't have enough money to get a new laptop until just recently. I felt bad for those I have kept waiting so as compensation, I stood up all day writing Chapter 1 non-stop. Hope this is worth the wait.

PS: This may sound immature of me, but getting reviews makes me very happy and it actually helps me get motivated to update as fast as I can. Hell, even a simple comment of "update soon" makes me happy. As for criticisms, as long as it's _constructive_, then that would be great, too. It can help me make improvements in places I probably didn't know it needed to be fixed in the first place. Flames, however, I will just ignore because it will be beneath my notice.

Now that I'm done ranting, please enjoy!

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><p><strong>Warning: <strong>This is a **slash** fic between **Tom Riddle** and **Harry Potter**. There might also be other pairings in the near future, although not necessarily just slash. If you are uncomfortable with these kinds of fanfic or even this pairing, then please go back. No one's making you read this. Flamers will be ignored. You have been warned.

**Disclaimer**: I do not own Harry Potter and The Phantom of the Opera. I'm just writing this for my own amusement. _Harry Potter © J.K. Rowling _& _The Phantom of the Opera ©_ _Gaston Leroux_

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><p><strong>Chapter 1<strong>

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><p>-<em>London, England 1870<em>-

The Hogwarts Opera House was busting at the seams with the employees running frantically back and forth. Dancers stepped daintily in a white powder while others stretched. Several men carried a large prop to the back of the theater. Girls giggled behind the curtain, dressed head to toe in their costumes.

The stage they all bustled about on stood brightly lit, the dark wooded floors reflecting well the candles hidden at the front of the stage. The orchestra tuned in their pit, an abused looking conductor watching them with a hawk-like gaze, commenting with a snark every now and then with a cranky air. Beyond him, are a sea of seats colored in red velvet with golden trimmings. The matching red walls and golden pillars offset the most breath-taking part of the theater- the brightly lit chandler that hung high overhead. The cherubs and angels carved onto the walls watched over the busy theater.

Meanwhile, one Ginny Weasley was on a rampage.

This was to be expected as an everyday event that you could practically set your watch on. Usually after the lunch break, but before her late night frenzy. Only this time it was worse. This time Ginny was threatening to quit, and, she claimed, she actually meant it.

The reason for today's monumental ferocity was because "some blundering, thick-headed oaf," as she so lovingly put it, had said the opera she had a lead role in was starring Ginerva Weasley. This was bad on the "oaf's" part because she had been insisting for quite some time that her name was actually La Carlotta. Ginny thought that being named as such, people, namely her audience, would think she was Spanish. In her mind, being foreign would set her apart from the other British girls around her. She would be different. Special.

The only drawback from her plan was that Ginny could by no means be mistaken for Spanish with her pale complexion, light eyes and lack of accent, but that didn't mean she couldn't try. And try she did. Ginny didn't know how to speak Spanish, nor was she an acquaintance with anyone from Spain, but she thought if she rolled her R's and called people _Señor_, she would immediately be placed as an intelligent and talented world traveler.

In reality, however, it placed her as a spoiled and annoying diva.

"I work and I work and I work, but does anyone care? No!" she shrieked. "Without me, there would be no Hogwarts! I am the only one that can act! I am the only one that can sing! I _am _Hogwarts! Ugh! My name is _La Carlotta_! Not the plain Ginerva Weasley! LA CARLOTTA!" The rest of it went in a similar fashion.

At a safe distance, chorus boy and girl Harry Potter and Hermione Granger looked both amused and exasperated. They knew as well as anyone else that Ginny is actually a sweet girl and didn't really care as much as she let on. But being the youngest as well as the only girl of her six successful silblings, Ginny just wanted to stand out on her own without being coddled and overshadowed by her brothers. As much as Harry and Hermione loved their friend, she can be, quoting one Ron Weasley, "an annoying prat."

"How am I supposed to act as Ginerva Weasley?" she continued as she discovered that throwing things in her rage added a nice theatrical note which she quite enjoyed. "There is no way _Ginerva Weasley _could be in the play _Hannibal_!"

_GONG!_ A platter dish went flying across the stage and into the wall.

"But _La Carlotta _is a very talented actress who can bring life to the play!"

_SLAM!_ A musician's music stand went plunging toward the floor.

"So, since I'm LA CARLOTTA, I should be named as such on the poster!"

_CRASH! _The pitcher containing her water collided with… Albus Dumbledore, the owner of the Hogwarts Opera.

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><p>Dumbledore did not know why everyone was staring at him so oddly. "La Carlotta" had been the one to throw something, not him.<p>

But then he looked down and found his pant legs to be in ruins. The glass from the pitcher had cut through the suit his dear friend Gellert had bought for him, showing his pale, bleeding, skin. Oh. Well, that would certainly explain why his leg suddenly stung a bit. Nonchalantly, he bent down and covered the wound with a nearby scrap of cloth, tying it around his leg like a bandage. When he straightened up, he put a hand up to stop Ginny's string of apologies.

"Please, Miss _Weasley_," he stressed. It was mean of him, but he couldn't help chuckle a bit at seeing her make-up smeared face scrunch up slightly with annoyance. "That is unnecessary. I'm alright, see?" He gestured toward himself.

The conductor, Severus Snape buried his face in his hands, shaking his head. "Why does the good God curse me with such a star...?" he muttered to himself as he tapped out the image of the cross on his torso, earning snickers from those close enough to hear him. It abruptly stopped, however, when he snapped his head towards them and glared murderously.

After a few moment, Dumbledore cleared his throat for attention.

"I have," he started, "I have come here to announce something rather important. As you know, for some weeks there have been rumors of my imminent retirement. I can tell you now that these were all true and I am selling the Hogwarts Opera House to these two lady and gentleman behind me. Please welcome Mister Cornelius Fudge and Madame Dolores Umbridge." He signaled for the new owners to step ahead.

Though they were thoroughly disappointed by their kind owner leaving, the employees of Hogwarts clapped politely, if not somewhat reluctantly. Harry felt particularly depressed. Dumbledore had not only given him a home when his mother and father died and were left at the Dursley's all those years ago, but he had looked after him and helped him when he fell down. Harry had always told Dumbledore that he saw him as a grandfather he never had.

Hermione leaned over to her friend. "What a pity. It will be a lot different without him around anymore."

Harry could only nod.

"I may be leaving," Dumbledore began, "but Madame McGonagall is staying on as a manager. She will be a great use to you both, Cornelius; Dolores. She knows the ins and outs of the opera house and can advise you on how to deal with the more…" he stared pointedly at Ginny, "_difficult _performers."

It is then that Ginny Weasley realized she had not been the center of attention for quite some time. She rallied her spirits over the loss of the now former owner and started berating the new owners. It was her own way of a welcome.

"Señor Dumbledore!" she cried. "You cannot expect to leave me here with these... these _unqualified_ people, can you?"

Dumbledore gave her a stern look. "No, Miss Weasley, they seem well qualified to work with you. I believe they have made recent fortune in the junk business, is it not?" He left before he heard their answer, but he let out a soft chortle when he did hear Ginny's cry of indignation.

"Scrap metal… Albus…" Fudge called weakly after Dumbledore's hastily retreating figure. He took a deep breath, snuck a look at Umbridge's outraged but equally as frightened face, and turned his attention to the raging "La Carlotta."

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><p>Dolores Umbridge had only had this job for three quarters of an hour and she was already re-evaluating her choice. It seemed like a proper good idea at the time. She and Fudge would leave the business of scrap metal and venture into the elegance of opera. Simple, right?<p>

Wrong.

Ginerva, or, she mentally corrected herself, _La Carlotta_ had been speaking non-stop to her since Albus Dumbledore left. No, not speaking, _screeching_. She had tried to put her foot down and have this wretched girl, star or not, know who was the head of the opera house now, but the loudness of her voice was so high, she had no choice but to tune out quickly for fear of becoming deaf. Reluctantly, she resigned herself to looking repentant and nodding her head every few moments, although she glared spitefully whenever the star didn't look.

"That is _enough_, Miss Weasley," said a stern, strict voice behind her, startling both Ginny and Umbridge. Behind them stood Madame McGonagall, calm and intimidating.

"I understand that you, as well as the rest of the Hogwarts employees are distressed about the retirement of Mr. Dumbledore," she said sternly, "but that does not excuse you to be rude to your new _managers_."

Flushed with anger and embarrassment, Ginny stomped away and went back to the rehearsal.

Umbridge gave out a sigh of relief and nodded her head in Ginny Weasley's general direction. "Thank you, Minerva. Albus said you can handle such situations as these. What do I do?" she pleaded.

McGonagall smiled. "Simple," she stated, "you grovel." She then looked around curiously. "Where is Cornelius?"

"Umm, Madame McGonagall...?" She turned her head towards the source of the timid voice. "Yes, Miss Bones?"

Susan Bones, one of the chorus girls, pointed her finger towards the general direction where Fudge stood, who was currently flirting and fluttering his eyes at the dancers, looking highly uncomfortable at his unwanted attention. McGonagall bristled. It has not yet been the first day and already both the new owners were causing trouble!

Motioning Madame Umbridge to follow her, she briskly walked towards to Fudge and dragged him away from the dancers. "If you please, sir; madame," she said with a hint of annoyance in her voice.

Over to the side, the dancers spun around and leaped in time with the music, which had started up once more, and those who doubled as part of the chorus sang while they all danced in rhythm. Umbridge looked at them curiously, interested in her new properties.

"We take a particular pride in the excellence of our ballets," explained Madame McGonagall while giving them a small tour.

Fudge leered. "I see why, especially that little brown-haired angel."

"My daughter, Hermione." Adopted, but he didn't need to know that.

He gave a small huff. His eyes brightened again when spotted yet another who fits his fancy. "And that exceptional beauty? No relation I trust."

"Harry Potter. Promising talent, Cornelius, very promising," informed McGonagall.

Both Umbridge and Fudge looked at her, surprised. "Potter, you say? No relation to the famous violinist?"

"His only child, orphaned at seven when he came to live and train in the ballet dormitories."

"An orphan, you said?" asked Fudge, his voice thick with suggestive tone. Umbridge couldn't help but sniff in barely veiled disgust. She could understand his lust for a pretty girl, but a boy? Beautiful or not, that is, in her opinion, unnatural.

"I think of him as a son also," McGonagall replied leaving no room for discussion. "Now, if you would kindly stand to one side."

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><p>Harry peered over at the curtain to see the new owners of the theater complimenting Ginny very loudly after the rehearsal. So loudly it could be heard across the boisterous stage to the tucked away corner where both he and Hermione was hiding away in. They rolled their eyes.<p>

"You are a beautiful _Spanish _flower, La Carlotta!" Fudge shouted. "And your voice! It is like the song of one thousand angels!" He nudged Umbridge to say something as well.

"Two thousand angels!" she piped in reluctantly after constant nudging and subtle nagging on Fudge's part.

"Beautiful diva! Goddess of song!"

Harry and Hermione laughed softly at the exaggerations. At least they are calming her down. Harry knew better than anyone else that you did not want to be on the receiving end of Ginny's wrath; he himself had been there. There was this one time when Ginny had been in a particularly bad mood and have decided for some reason to set out and make his life horrible (although she did apologize in the end). She hadn't really succeeded in her goal due to their completely different schedules and Harry's general lack of caring.

There was this one time when Ginny had somehow stolen Harry's room key and he was locked outside his room for the whole day. He had been allowed to sleep in Colin Creevey's room (God Bless the boy), but he was trapped in yesterday's clothes and felt his eye twitch in irritation as he watched Ginny wave his key at him when she walked past. He couldn't help but compare her at that moment with his dreadful cousin, Dudley.

However, "La Carlotta's" pleasure was short lived. The next day, Harry had mysteriously found the key attached to his door knob by a blood red ribbon later that night. Even till this day he never did find out who had taken back his stolen room key from Ginny.

Meanwhile, Ginny's own splendid suite in the upper rooms of the opera was actually _welded _shut. She had immediately flown into a shrill story of how her poor chihuahua named Pig was trapped in there. Not to mention her expensive jewelry, lavish gowns and gaudy furniture. It took two days for the workmen to get the door open. Pig had been alright, but the shoes he had snacked on were beyond help.

"If I am correct, señorita , isn't there a marvelous aria for Elisa in Act 3 of __Hannibal___?_ Would you do us as a personal favor if you would oblige us with a private rendition?" Fudge asked. Ginny finally smiled slightly.

"If my managers commands..." she said, faking a slight tone of a humble quality. "Señor Snape?" she said sharply, turning to the conductor.

"If my diva commands..." Snape muttered darkly. "Is three bars of introduction sufficient?" he sneered, looking at Ginny, tapping his stand once more as the orchestra prepared. She nodded. "Maestro."

The music began. Keeping at a soft level, the piano played the first bars. Ginny had to make everything perfect. Not only will Hogwarts be playing _Hannibal_ tonight, but they will also be naming their new Patron. She opened her mouth and began to sing.

Unfortunately, perfection is not what came out of her mouth.

She seemed to have a voice that opera goers loved, expressive and powerful. But it was the voice everyone else hated, nasal and obnoxious with her exaggeration of her R's. The maintenance crew had even taken to putting cotton balls in their ears so they wouldn't have to hear it.

As she came to the high drawn out finale of her song, both Fudge and Umbridge couldn't help flinching at the sound. But Ginny never got to finish.

One of the chorus girls screamed as the backdrop fell violently from the ceiling, barely missing Ginny by mere inches. Her mouth froze open for a few seconds in pure terror, having little time to compose herself as the new managers rushed over.

"He's here!" screamed one of the girls in horror. "He's here, the Phantom of the Opera! It is the ghost!" The cast stirred as the girls huddling together in a frightened, shaking mass and the men trying their best to stand tall, but with obvious looks of apprehension and fear on every inch of their faces.

"What's going on there?" Umbridge shouted as she looked up at the ceiling.

Alastor Moody looked down. "Don't look at me, madame. As God's my judge, I was not at my post; there's no one there," he said trailing off, and then a twisted, amused grin formed onto his face. "Or if there is, well then, it must be a ghost..."

Once getting over her initial shock, Ginny ripped her head dress off her head and threw it to the ground as she howled. "That's it! I'm done with this!"

Fudge was at the end of his ropes. "Please, my Lady", he pleaded, "I'm sure these things do happen..." Ginny's eyes widened in anger.

"THESE THINGS DO HAPPEN? SI! FOR THE PAST YEARS THESE THINGS DO HAPPEN!" she shrieked, balling her fist and waving it in his face. "WELL, UNTIL YOU STOP THESE THINGS," pointed a shaking finger towards herself, "THIS THING DOES NOT HAPPEN!" she said, screeching the last bit, her words reverberating on the walls. She then stormed off the stage to the exit, a few personal assistants following the girl on her rampage out the door.

Fudge and Umbridge looked at each other, each with worry on their faces.

"Miss Ginerva, she will be back, won't she?" Fudge asked, fidgeting as uncertainty dripped from his voice.

"You think so, Cornelius? I have a message, sir, from the Opera Ghost," McGonagall said, holding up a piece of crisp paper between her fingers with a broken, blood-red seal on it. Umbridge glared at the woman.

"God in Heaven, you're all obsessed!" she exclaimed, narrowing her eyes into thin beady lines as if challenging her to deny it. Unfazed, Madame McGonagall opens the letter, and looks from the paper to the new managers, an unreadable expression on her face.

"He wishes to welcome you to his opera house," she started, and Fudge began to sputter in outrage.

"_His_ opera house?" Not skipping a beat, she continues.

"He would also like to inform you he has a monthly salary to be paid, and that it is due. _And_," she said, making this word heard before the new managers could say something, "he commands you to continue to leave Box Five to be left unoccupied for his use."

Both Fudge and Umbridge turned from red to purple enraged. "A _salary_?" Umbridge shrieked. "You're paying a _salary_ to a _madman_?"

"Not I, but Mr. Dumbledore did," McGonagall said lightly. "He used to give him 20,000 pounds a month."

"_20,000 pounds_?"

"Perhaps," she said, a small smile forming on her face, "with your new patron, you can easily afford more?" The cast stirred once again at this new information, exchanging glances as the people muttered.

Umbridge tried to calm herself before she spoke again."Minerva," she began. "I had hoped to make that announcement public tonight when he was to join us at the gala. But _obviously,_" she stressed as she snatched the letter away from McGonagall and ripped it to pieces, "we shall now have to cancel as it appears we have lost our star!"

"There should be an understudy?" Fudge asked Snape desperately, his face lined with worry. "Anyone at all who can sing it?" Snape snorted.

"An understudy? Miss Weasley knows not this word. There is no understudy."

"A whole house, Cornelius! We shall have to refund a full house!" Umbridge said desperately.

"Harry Potter can sing the part, sir," Hermione suddenly announced with confidence, tilting her head slightly towards her friend, hidden in the background. Everything went silent as all eyes landed on him.

* * *

><p>Harry had no idea why these things tend to happened to him. He had been innocently standing in the background, minding his own business – when one of his <em>supposedly<em> best friend decided to push him into the spotlight, which he never really enjoyed.

Both of the new managers rose their eyebrows sceptically.

"A _chorus boy_?" Umbridge exclaimed in bewilderment. "You want me to give a lead part of a major musical production to a _chorus boy_? Don't be silly, girl!" Harry frowned. He may not like to be in the center of attention, but that doesn't mean he also enjoyed being belittled, and rather rudely at that.

"He has been taking lessons from a great teacher," McGonagall said sternly at that moment, with no question in her voice.

Umbridge's lips thinned and turned her head towards Harry. "Who?" she asked, squinting her beady eyes at him.

Harry swallowed nervously at the sudden shift of attention. "I... I don't know his name, madame."

"Don't even know your own teacher! Well, I-!"

"Let him sing for you, Dolores," McGonagall interrupted. She walked towards the chorus boy and rested her hand onto his shoulder reassuringly. "He has been well-taught."

"Well then!" Fudge exclaimed, still sounding a little frantic. "Let the boy sing!"

Umbridge still had a doubtful look on her face. He was just a chorus boy. How could he possibly pull off such a powerful song?

"Alright, come on, don't be shy," Fudge ushered. "Come on, come on!"

Harry nodded and quickly made his way to the center stage. The surrounding performers had grouped around the edges of the stage, watching with interested and skeptical eyes. After all, they have never heard him sing before. The piano played as Harry went into place.

Trying to calm down, he began to think of his teacher's wonderful voice, so soft, so velvet-like, and so _perfect_. Eyes filled with determination, he sang.

His voice had not the over expression and over bearing stage presence that most performers of his time had, but a silken, magical voice that captivated and wrapped its' way around its' listeners' hearts. It displayed the emotion of the song and let the words ring as clear as bells.

It was, as far as Fudge and Umbridge were concerned, the perfect voice for the opera.

The piano soon stopped playing, and the theater went silent.

"I believe," Fudge finally said as he cleared his throat, "we have found our understudy."

As the crowd broke into a thunderous applause, and cheers and praises filled the house, a tall figure stepped out of the shadow from the walkway along the walls near the ceiling of the theater where he watched. His black-gloved hands graced the rails as he held on, his breath caught in his throat. A smile of triumph carved onto his face.

"Bravo, my Chosen One," he whispered, never once taking his red eyes off the new star. "Bravo."


End file.
